


[I want. What I want.]

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Vampires, scary not sparkly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-13
Updated: 2006-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: What it takes to give in, and where that threshold lies in two disparate beings. (Snape/Draco, implied H/D)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Severus Snape
Kudos: 3





	[I want. What I want.]

**Author's Note:**

> In which an inhuman Snape's very human failings may doom us all. Written for trouser_snaco's fqf prompt: vampire!snape/tasty!draco. Takes place immediately following HBP in some cracked-out AU in which Snape Really Is a Vampire. Many thanks to swtalmnd for the reality check and juice817 for the beta.

The Apparation had taken him by surprise and Draco stumbled and fell as the hand on his collar released him without warning. Immediately up on all fours, Draco scrambled back until he crashed into a hearth, backing onto his knees, panting and staring up at the figure now advancing upon him. "...Professor Snape?"

Snape scowled and for a fleeting moment, Draco was sure he saw a flash of too much _fang_ , but that was ridiculous; a story told to firsties so they'd shiver in their beds. No-- Draco was having a bad night; a bad fucking _year_ and he was shaking and sweating and nursing a savaged elbow. As a result, he had to have been imagining that his Head Of House was eyeing the blood dripping onto the hardwood floor with little more than ill-disguised hunger.

With the slightest of head shakes, Snape's expression became the usual glower (which contrary to popular belief even Slytherins felt the brunt of on a regular basis). "Mister Malfoy. The utter stupidity of your actions this evening leads me to wonder why I bothered dragging your carcass along behind me." His eyes followed the movements of Draco's injured arm, and he took another step toward him.

Draco licked his lips and said quickly, "Yes, and thank you, sir, for everything. I know that--"

His sentence cut off as Snape bent quickly, snatched Draco's arm, and hauled him to his feet in order to examine more closely his bleeding elbow.

"Professor?" Draco asked, willing his voice not to squeak.

Snape pulled his wand and murmured a charm that tingled as he cleaned and superficially healed over the wound. Still sure he was imagining things, Draco swore he saw a flicker of regret flit across Snape's face, gone in an instant.

"You must be very tired, Draco," said Snape in a smooth, quiet voice. Draco realized that he was in fact so very tired, it was a wonder he had not passed out.

"I am," Draco said through a yawn, clamping a hand to his mouth.

"Sleep then," came the low rumble of Snape's voice, and Draco did, missing entirely the moment when Snape lifted his one sullied finger to his mouth and licked it clean of any precious, stray crimson drops.

###

A night breeze ruffled the strands of hair that had fallen across Draco's forehead as he slept in his underclothes, raising goosepimples along the smooth, unmarked flesh of his arms and legs. He turned fitfully, plagued by dreams of Vanishing Cabinets and Death Eaters; by Dumbledore's offer of mercy and green jets of light from Snape's wand. He'd never quite known what to make of his Head of House and tonight had clarified nothing. He hadn't been convinced that killing Dumbledore had been the right thing to do-- merely the necessary one, still, he'd hesitated where Snape had acted. Snape had saved him and stepped in to finish the job because he'd be rewarded for doing so; by Voldemort himself, no less, whose name Draco couldn't even dream of without shuddering.

Shivering on the narrow guest bed at Spinner's End is where it found him, a cool, undefined presence that was somehow different from the wind carefully sifting through the screened half-open window. What might almost be fingers trailed up his exposed calf and the back of his thigh, tracing his arse through his pants. Next was the visible midline of Draco's back, followed by yet another touch traversing the width of his waist, dissecting the first invisible line roughly three-fourths of the way down. 

Draco whimpered in his sleep but neither turned nor woke, his subconscious reminding him never to look punishment (or pleasure) in the eye. His fingers clenched around his pillow as the touch returned; just once - down the back of his arm and across the scabbed-over elbow he hadn't asked Snape to heal. Stiffening with a muffled yelp, his eyes remained shut though surely he should have woken by now; relaxing as a familiar voice murmured, "Sleep."

Draco did, though he woke to find that his cuts and scrapes must have opened during the course of the night, eyeing the dried blood on his forearm and sheets with disgust. 

Rising, he pulled his wand from under his pillow and performed several cleansing charms on the linens as well as his clothes. They were simple charms and all he knew, given that he would only ever need to clean his own clothes in the case of an emergency, and it was apparent that this qualified as one. Still, he lifted his chin, straightened his somewhat acceptable clothes and padded to the bathroom to clean himself up, determined to make himself as presentable as possible given the circumstances before approaching any living being, much less his Head of House. Former Head of House.

Eventually he emerged and though he could hear sounds in the direction of the kitchen, his attention was drawn to the closed door at the end of the short hall - Snape's room, he assumed. It was the height of rude behavior to open closed doors when a guest in someone else's home without express permission, and yet the door beckoned to him, strangely seductive in its dark recess.

As he edged closer, Snape's voice echoed down the short hall. 

"Lost, Draco?"

Draco started, turning and loosing the first explanation he could come up with. "No, sir. Not at all. It's just, the work on the doorframe resembles the work on the smoking room doors at Malfoy Manor - is it Italian?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't know. It's been in the family a very long time. There is tea in the kitchen."

Nodding, Draco paused, his stomach growling loudly as he cast one last curious glance at the door. "Thank you." 

With that, he pulled his shoulders back and began walking down the corridor toward the kitchen and dining area under Snape's watchful eye. As he passed Snape, Draco found that he almost had to struggle not to stop, stricken by the idea that Snape was not actually breathing as he waited for Draco to precede him. Unreasonable as the conviction no doubt was, it was supplanted by a sudden recollection of fingers tracing his calf and a crawling sensation of long nails trailing across his back. A cold shudder ran up his spine and he was mortified to find that he was half-hard for no discernible reason.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Draco kept walking down the hallway that seemed inexplicably longer than it ought. Snape hung his head with what might have been a small huff of laughter, and Draco gave in, turning to look at him. "Did you say something, Professor?"

Snape tilted his head ever so slightly showing a bare hint of predatory amusement. "No, Draco, I did not."

"Oh," Draco said lamely, as if suddenly snapping back to attention. "Alright."

Draco made his way to the kitchen and sat down, helping himself to toast and eggs and tea. Snape moved silently into the room, removing a mug from the warmer and taking a seat though he did not immediately serve himself from the available dishes. Watching him expectantly, Draco waited for Snape to be done serving himself, unwilling to begin eating before everyone at the table had been served.

Seemingly reading his mind, Snape gestured toward Draco's plate. "Please. Be my guest." He murmured as he made to take a sip, "I've eaten."

Draco gave no further thought to anything but tucking in and for once, was unremarkable for any reason among seventeen-year-old boys.

###

It had been three days since Snape had fled Hogwarts with Draco. He'd had to trust that the memory wards he'd recently put in place would keep anyone short of the Dark Lord himself from remembering how to get to Spinner's End, but it was only a temporary measure while he worked out what to do with the boy.

Draco. 

Good God, Snape had been an idiot-- Draco at least had the excuse of his years and the impossible choices placed before him. Had he been left behind, it was likely he could have pled the innocent whose hand was forced, perhaps even by way of the Imperius curse. Public outcry alone might have kept the Ministry from truly hurting a Pureblood boy that had barely turned seventeen.

Instead, Snape had closed his hand over Draco's arm --his warm, soft pulse-- and dragged him off. For his own protection of course- but from whom? The last time Voldemort summoned Snape, he had been subjected to the Cruciatus merely for suggesting the boy not be put to death once he was found. _The Prophet_ in the meantime was shouting about the "Mysteriously Missing Malfoy Heir" and the rumors of his involvement with the attack on the school, his absence making it that much more incriminating. Potter was busy flashing his 'I told you so' card at the Order.

Still, Snape could not bring himself to stop staring at the boy he'd admired as beautiful from the time he was a first-year. The fine bone structure and bright hair that had caught his attention could only be improved by the pale light of the moon and the absence of blood rushing through the veins just under the surface. The boy was now a young man, and in the prime for Turning; he so willingly gave over to Snape's will, his subconscious so clearly eager for Snape's touch.

Snape unthinkingly licked his lips as he studied Draco's pale, flawless throat and could almost hear the blood flowing under his skin, still taste it on his tongue.

###

Draco could _feel_ Snape watching him. It happened all the time now; any time Snape was in the same room, which was hard to avoid in a house this size when the man was home. There was nothing for Draco to do except peruse the library for reading material and find places to read it, sleep, or to pester Snape for information, of which he claimed to have very little. 

Very little of interest to Draco, that is, except for the choice tidbits including the fact that the Dark Lord still wanted Draco dead, the Ministry still wanted him for 'questioning' and Potter's people still wanted him for being generally dodgy and possibly evil.

Brilliant. Draco had no idea what he was still doing here. Except slowly going mad, and possibly developing a consumption for all the sleeping he seemed to be doing lately, and all the feverish imaginings that happened while he did.

If he weren't so tired and on edge, or if Snape spent more than late evenings in the house, Draco might be a little more concerned. As it stood, he felt as though he needed a lie-down.

###

As Draco woke during the night, so Snape woke during the day in his cool, dark chambers, plagued by the taste of Draco's blood. It haunted him-- perhaps even mocked him from upstairs, walking about sheathed in flesh and perspiration, clothing and fear and the skin of a boy that had been his responsibility for far too long. He'd sworn to protect Draco, yet somehow Snape had dragged him into an untenable circumstance; a situation for which he could find no solution. 

Other than Turning him.

Realistically, the boy could already be dead for all anyone else knew. And if he ever decided to run off as Snape could see plainly that he was contemplating, he would be dead in a matter of days once caught.

Snape was the only one who knew what had happened to Draco-- that made the boy his to do with as he wished, didn't it? If he was already lost, what could it hurt for Snape to have a deeper taste of more than the surfactant-tinged blood of a minor wound? And if Draco withstood the change, would he not be more capable of handling threats that came at him from all directions?

Shuddering at the thought of more than just the little tastes of Draco's heady lifeblood that were keeping him docile, Snape shut his eyes again. There was no difference in the darkness, save the vivid image of Draco's pale skin radiating warmth and life. Surely it was not his business to put an end to that.

Yet.

###

Out. Snape was gone again and Draco was definitely going mad locked in this house if one could even call it that. More than two weeks had passed, closer to three, and Snape was beginning to look more and more nervous and avoidant when it came to Draco's questions about what was going on. He claimed to know that Draco's mother was well, but he hadn't been able to convince the Dark Lord that Draco should be spared when he was theoretically found. 

Snape refused to hear of Narcissa's escape plan for Draco, claiming that no existing plans would be safe from Voldemort or the Ministry and that Draco was safer in the dingy house until they could work out a better plan.

The sheer fact that Snape would show any sort of anxiety was beginning to play havoc with Draco's mind. If he hadn't found himself so tired lately, he would have begun to look for ways of escaping. In fact, the idea that he thought of it as 'escaping' rather than 'leaving' was telling enough, and yet Draco could not seem to bring himself to even try and look for a cloak and a way out.

As he roamed the house, Draco's feet brought always brought him back to the ornate doorframe. More often than not, he turned away with a shudder and made his way back to the library, rubbing his forearms in the unseasonable chill. 

###

More often than not, Snape's attention had already been drawn to the door by Draco's proximity. 

More than once, his own Potions-stained fingertips were already brushing the door as he inhaled deeply to catch the copper tang of Draco's sweet blood on the air and for the taking for those who knew how. 

Most recently, however, Snape cursed his own foolishness while promising himself that if the boy was fool enough to open the door, he couldn't be held responsible. Or perhaps that next time he wouldn't rise to it at all. 

###

That promise somehow changed in Snape's mind to _when_ the boy opened the door, he _wouldn't_ be held responsible.

Come to think of it, Snape was sure that was the point at which he began sleeping better.

###

The door, always the door-- today Draco found his hand lifting to the door latch of its own accord. There had to be a reason he was not allowed in, and yet he somehow he couldn't be arsed to care anymore. 

The catch wouldn't release, but Draco mumbled, "Alohamora," one of the most basic wandless spells any _real_ wizard should be able to perform. He was almost surprised at the ease with which the latch clicked and the door swung inward smoothly, forgetting all of that as a cool breeze from within brushed his cheek and ruffled his hair. It put him immediately in mind of the fitful dreams that kept him awake, and yet instead of running away, he stepped into the overly dim room, unhurriedly reaching for his wand for light.

###

Snape was up the moment the door wards had been tripped, knowing he should rush up the stairs and herd Draco out, explaining away his 'absence' by lulling the boy into a stupor and setting him down on his bed. 

That would be the smart thing to do. The correct thing.

A dull flash of light barely peeked around the foot of the staircase and Snape instead found that he must have had no need for 'correct' for too long. He had no desire in fact for anything save the warm thrum of life and energy in the process of making his way down the stairs. He ran his tongue over one sharp canine of the pair that was pulling forward and becoming more wicked even as the scent of live young thing came closer.

He shut his eyes, attempting to shut out the image of Dumbledore's disapproval, easier to do as the maddening scent of warm blood came closer after so long without. After what seemed an eternity, Snape looked up as Draco rounded the foot of the stairs and the sight of the boy shining practically ethereal in the darkness sealed his fate. 

Narcissa surely could not protest if Snape made the boy more able to care for himself, after all.

###

Draco had stepped through the door expecting a bedroom, but as his _Lumos_ took effect, he saw that he was at the top of a narrow stone staircase. Intrigued, he'd begun down the steps, his fingers trailing along the cool stone wall covered in ornate carvings in a style matching that of the doorframe. 

When he rounded the bottom step, however, he could see Snape's sallow skin reflected in the light from his wand and hopped back the barest half-step in surprise. 

"Professor?" Draco swallowed as the details of the small room began to filter in. Severe and ancient tapestries, sparse yet elegant heavy antique chairs, no fireplace, and a total lack of windows. 

A bed recessed into the stone wall also hung with severe tapestries, heavy and dark.

"I'm - I- I'm. Going. I uh. Apologize," stammered Draco, taking another step back telling himself that he was imagining the change in Snape's jawline. That he was imagining the tilt and glow to his eyes and the fact that he was coming nearer without appearing to do more than glide, and for the first time in six years of watching the man move about the castle, Draco was now convinced that he had never truly seen him.

"I'm going," Draco repeated, turning to run up the stairs as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and every muscle in his body screamed to run.

Before his foot came down onto the first step, Snape was on him, one arm thrown over his shoulder and across his chest; the other around his waist as he nuzzled Draco's neck. "No, you're not," Snape murmured low as he breathed Draco in though he didn't need the air.

"Get your disgusting hands off of me!" Draco said, twisting in Snape's grasp for a panicked moment. An elbow flew back and into the slightly larger man who didn't seem as though he should be strong enough to hold Draco as tightly as he did.

"Listen to me, Draco. You can't stay here forever." 

###

Draco squirmed, clawing at Snape's hand over his chest. "Nor do I want to! Ugh!" 

Snape was fascinated by the pulse visible in the column of Draco's throat. He could already taste how it would feel to put a stop to it-- to end the breathing and circulation. He could already feel the heartbeat slow and stop under his mouth, knowing that it was more precious than anything else the boy could give or might have already given, high on the knowledge that it would only happen once and would only be for him, dizzy on the scent of fear and arousal and... oh yes, _excitement_ radiating thickly from Draco. 

Baring his fangs, Snape purred, "You need the power, Draco. And I can give it to you. You _want_ it." The words that tumbled from Snape's mouth were a calculated, persuasive seduction; he said them just as he'd said them to himself. He couldn't outright make the boy choose, but he _could_ convince him. Snape was offering too much that Draco couldn't help but want.

Draco sagged slightly against him, still breathing hard, but listening. 

"Power?"

###

The nail of Snape's index finger trailed down the side of Draco's neck, breath wafting hot across his ear. "You can live forever, eternally young; you can have anything you want." 

Draco's heart pounded, his lungs rasping and struggling for breath, as if they too knew that their functionality would be limited shortly. He was disgusted and knew he should tear away, should spit in Snape's face for even the suggestion of tainting Draco's pure blood, and yet what did he have left to live for? The Dark Lord wanted him dead and he couldn't very well walk up to Potter's people and announce that he was on their side. He wasn't-- he just wanted to see his family safe and Potter's people wouldn't give a rat's arse about them. Any of them, Draco included.

"Any _one_ you want," murmured Snape, the hand at Draco's waist sliding around Draco, fingers splayed low along his belly. 

"I want--" Draco gasped. "Potter. Want to make him pay," Draco breathed through a harsh inhale. The tiniest of whimpers escaped his lips as the hint of what felt like a razor-sharp blade dragged softly in the same path that Snape's nail had taken, accompanied by lips moist if not quite warm.

"You could take your revenge so easily, Draco," Snape all but purred, pulling Draco's smaller frame flush against his body. "Once this is all over, he could be your plaything. He could never hope to match your new gifts."

Draco's head lolled back against Snape's shoulder, so ready to give in if it meant feeling like this all the time; suffused with heady desire and the sudden conviction that nothing would be sweeter than warm blood on his tongue. 

"I want--"

###

The absolute certainty that he was dying was calming; there was no question remaining as to whether or when. Draco tightened his grip on Snape's forearm as the blood left his body (too quickly; it hurt more than he thought it might), eyes rolling back, mouth half-open in a hiss of what might have been pain or bliss.

Blinding; God. It was blinding. The light threatened to burn him to a cinder as sunlight would threaten to do every day after this one. He turned away from the blazing brightness and fell right back into himself-- his life sucked out and poured back through the sieve of Snape's long-dead veins.

After that, the images went faint around the edges; there was a flicker of clinging to a too-pale arm that was drifting up his stomach and chest under his shirt, and a hint of a whimper as it pulled away. A sigh as his soul took on the taint, for it was clear that contrary to popular myth, it was not in fact gone, though the dull roar in his ears might have blocked out its protest at being soiled thus.

One memory above all would stand out for as long as the physical body of Draco Malfoy remained: the texture of cool skin under his teeth and blood in his mouth, and the conviction now unshakable that the only way it could be better would be warm and fresh from a beating heart.

###

A month; two months? Possibly more since Draco had fled with Snape, though it didn't matter; not anymore. Time was fluid enough. Snape actually had the audacity to laugh at Draco on more than one occasion during the awkward adjustment from living to not-quite. Draco had never heard him do it before but it seemed to come easily now; a fond master indulging a spoiled pet reveling in his new home, growing into his new body.

Everything had a flavor, every scent an accompanying texture. Snape's tongue rasped like sandpaper over the pores and follicles of Draco's skin, and it tasted like heat; like the sunlight he'd given up for power. Draco tasted the power every time he took one of the lesser beings that surrounded him.

More important than the carnal coupling with another of his kind, the bittersweet textures of fearful prey on the air from all around surrounded Draco. He was inundated in the pursuit of the lifeblood of others. Everything he did was about relearning his role as a true apex predator, even when he curled into Snape's side behind the heavy draperies, no longer concerned for the whims of a so-called Dark Lord, nor did he understand why Snape would care either.

[The boy didn't understand; refused to, really. He didn't have the same loyalties. He didn't have any loyalties.]

"Apologies for interrupting your deep thoughts, _Severus_ ," Draco murmured, running a wicked tongue over a gleaming fang if only to draw a drop forth in a promise of what was to come. His lithe body was pale and unencumbered by any sort of covering past a twisted sheet, more for effect than anything. Draco slid easily down the length of Snape's body, his roaming fingers and shifting thighs cool to the touch. Grinding his hips down, Draco bent to lick a long stripe up the side of Snape's neck as the older man's hands clenched convulsively on his hips. 

A single hiss escaped Snape's parted lips as Draco found a place to sink his teeth in a move not born of hunger, as he'd fed enthusiastically not so long ago. It was more for a taste of what he could do; what he could make his ex-professor do.

[The boy's loyalties were to himself alone, which was terrifyingly as it should be.]

###

In fact, there _was_ no war when Draco went out to hunt; blood was blood, though Wizarding was better, pure or not. Snape reassured him he'd learn to appreciate the subtle differences, yet Draco didn't care. He wanted what he wanted, as he always had, and after a while, Snape's willingness to indulge him began to wear thin. 

Wire thin, in fact-- it snapped entirely the night Draco let Kingsley Shacklebolt's head fall back onto the dirty cobblestones of the alley he'd lured him into with a wet _plop_ , still licking his lips and looking as though he ought to be rewarded for his cleverness. 

"Oh, god. I fucking _love_ them all buzzing with power like that," Draco purred, almost drunkenly slinking over to Snape. "Shame the Wizarding folk are rationed. Can't I move to the States and have them for dinner every night there?"

Snape's jaw set as he recognized the body's vacant eyes, his hand fisting Draco's hair, ignoring the low and unthinkable growl in the back of the boy's throat as Snape jerked him roughly away. "You took an Order member."

"Did I?" Draco smirked and tugged his head away, smirk fading a little as Snape did not release him.

"I expressly forbade it," Snape snarled with a shake, exposing his fangs in unconscious anger. "Willful _child_."

Draco's eyes flashed bright, his nails digging into Snape's wrist as he twisted out of his grasp. "He was there, and so I took him." He took another step back and away from Snape, mouth twisted in a grimace even as the corner twitched up again. " _Old man_."

"You _will_ obey," Snape said, attempting to compel Draco as he stalked forward to catch hold of him. "You have no choice."

The boy should have bent to Snape's will easily, and yet burning in his power, Draco did not feel it as he ought. Draco spat, "Wrong," and was gone as quickly as the word had fallen from his cherry-stained lips. 

Snape cursed Draco for a fool as the boy easily escaped him and disappeared into the shadows, the faint _pop_ of an Apparition not far behind. He cursed himself doubly for not having found it inevitable that the boy would reject his control; for being surprised that Draco had done it more quickly than any thrall Snape had held before. 

And so it seemed that his interminable years on the earth would end when they ended, and yet he would still be alone. It was no comfort that the boy would likely not last a week on his own. 

Peering uselessly one last time in the direction that the boy had vanished, Snape curled his lip with disgust and Apparated home. Draco would come back, or he would be dead; either way, Snape had to refocus his efforts. He'd spent too long toying with the boy. 

###

Well-protected from the bright midday sun, Snape awoke in a rush of tainted adrenaline and panic, suddenly remembering what the boy had wanted most of all. 

He recalled his curses tenfold upon himself as a method of keeping busy while he paced until nightfall, as there was nowhere he could Apparate with the certainty of avoiding daylight that would be of any use to him now.

###

Shortly after dark, Snape appeared at the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, knowing he was endangering himself by doing so, impelled by his last remaining traces of loyalty to Dumbledore's memory. He had already lost one of the students he had been set to protect and had too long left the other to the mercies of the near-useless Order. 

As expected, Snape wasn't able to let himself in thanks to the re-keyed wards, and therefore was forced to knock. When the door swung open, it appeared that Potter himself was answering, idiot that he'd always been. Even so, Snape's hand came up in a placating gesture as he all but tripped over his tongue to say, "You are in danger."

If Snape's heart had still been beating, it would have stopped at the sight of a pale hand slipping around Potter's waist from behind; a shock of platinum blond over his shoulder. 

Potter pulled the smile of a drugged stupor as he leaned back into Draco, oblivious of the wickedly sharp fangs poised at his throat. "Professor Dumbledore would have wanted me to give him a chance, Professor. I had to let him in." 

Thin, rough fingers clutching at Draco's arm to the tune of a hard inhale was Potter's only reaction to the crimson rivulet that ran down his neck and into his misshapen shirt collar, a mirror of Draco's own position what seemed so short a while past. 

"You can't--" Snape shook his head. "Fool! He's to vanquish the Dark Lord!"

Draco licked the broken skin obscenely through a smirk, his free hand all but petting the untouched side of Potter's neck. "Oops." 

Snape lunged forward and bounced off of the invisible barrier in the doorway, growling as Draco drawled, "We took care of that, Potter and I. Did you know he owns this fine house?"

"Potter!" shouted Snape. "You cannot allow this. You have a duty to uphold."

Grotesquely petulant, Potter turned further to face Draco. "I never liked him."

"Me neither," purred Draco, his eyes glowing faintly and trained unfailingly on Snape. "And I won't share. I have plans."

The door swung shut of its own accord and Snape was left standing on the doorstep, his twin failures now combined to form one monumental weight upon his shoulders. 

It appeared that it was, at last, time to go. There was no place left for him in England. Though he knew Dumbledore's shade would track him as surely as the man ever had in life, he could not stay. 

Draco had always wanted what he wanted. The difference was that now he had the power to get it. Twice over.


End file.
